


The Dandy and The Orphan

by ladylegsenjolras



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Friendship, Non-graphic death, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:12:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylegsenjolras/pseuds/ladylegsenjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montparnasse and Feuilly were two orphans, growing up together on the streets of Paris. One took a high road, while the other went down a darker path. </p><p>Exploring the relationship of Feuilly and Monstparnasse</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dandy and The Orphan

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this Tumblr post: http://pontparnasse.tumblr.com/post/58249933910/omg-no-like-montparnasse-and-feuilly-growing-up

“Feuilly! It’s me, let me in!” Montparnasse whispered, knocking softly on the makeshift wooden door of a rudimentary shelter. Feuilly crawled on his knees to the opening, and, when he peered through and saw Montparnasse’s face, he opened it. The taller boy ducked his head and crawled into the space, sitting down on the ground next to his friend. “Look what I got us,” he said, pulling his hand out from under his coat. He revealed a few small coins and a pastry. Feuilly’s eyes widened, and he glanced between the little treasures and Montparnasse’s face.  
“Where did you get these?” he asked quietly, picking up one of the coins and looking at it, back to front. Montparnasse smiled proudly, and puffed out his chest a bit.  
“When I was walking down the street alone, I saw this big, fat man walking down the other side,” he explained, waving his hand about casually. “So I ran across the street and hid in an alley way and as he walked past…I pulled his coin purse right out of his pocket! He didn’t even notice!” he finished, barely able to contain his laughter. But Feuilly frowned and put the coin back in Montparnasse’s hand.  
“’Parnasse…that isn’t very nice. You didn’t have to steal that,” he said gravely. Montparnasse’s smile fell, and turned into a scowl.  
“I don’t see the problem. He was probably going to spend it on something idiotic like a new coat, while here we are, living in a crate on the street!” he barked, shoving the coins into the pocket of his worn coat. He crossed his arms and turned slightly away from Feuilly, shoulders hunched. He picked up the pastry and angrily took a large bite, before setting the rest down on his knee. Feuilly sighed. He put a hand on his friend’s back.  
“M’sorry…I didn’t mean to make you mad,” he said gently. “I just wish that you didn’t have to steal money and food, is all.” Montparnasse eventually heaved a sigh and turned back around to face Feuilly. The smaller, redhaired boy gave Montparnasse a small smile. Montparnasse tried to keep scowling, but eventually his expression softened, and he shook his head.  
“It’s what I have to do,” he said simply. Feuilly opened his mouth to say something, but he decided against it and just shook his head. Montparnasse glanced down at the half eaten pastry on his leg. He held it out to Feuilly. “Here.” Feuilly’s smile grew wider as he took the small pastry and looked back up at his friend.  
“Thanks.”  
~  
Feuilly opened the door to the small flat he shared with Montparnasse and stepped inside the small room. It was barely furnished, between them, they had a desk with a chair, a couch, and a small mattress. It was far from luxury, but it was all they could afford. Feuilly closed the door behind him and leaned on it with a sigh. It had been another long day at work, where he made fans all day. The work was tedious and the pay was terrible, but Feuilly took pleasure in working. Of course, there were still days when he would come home and his shoulders were stiff from being still for so long. And there were still days when he wanted nothing more than a drink of wine and a soft bed. What he came home to that night, was Montparnasse sitting on the couch with a young woman practically draped over him, and he wore a new, bright red coat. The pair looked up when Feuilly entered the room.  
“Oh, sorry, lass, looks like you’ll have to go,” he said with a grin. The girl pouted, but stood up off the couch. She pressed a kiss to Montparnasse’s lips, and, with that, turned to exit the flat. Montparnasse reached up and slapped her on the ass as she left. Feuilly watched her go before turning to his friend.  
“Who was that?” he asked, shedding his threadbare coat on the floor and kicking off his shoes. Montparnasse shrugged.  
“Some tart. Forgot her name,” he replied with a shrug. Feuilly flopped down on the couch next to Montparnasse. He picked at his friend’s sleeve and looked up at him with a questioning glance.  
“Where did you get this?” he asked. Montparnasse’s grin grew even wider, and he stood, arms outstretched, to show off his jacket.  
“It’s the highest fashion. I picked it up today, that’s how I met that girl, too.” He turned in a circle (in order to be admired at all angles), before turning back to Feuilly. However, his smile fell when he saw the disappointed look on the redhead’s face.  
“I know you don’t have the money to spend on such luxuries. We cannot even afford a second bed.” He paused. “How many men did you rob in order to get this?” Montparnasse scoffed and rolled his eyes. Feuilly stood up and stepped in front of Montparnasse. “I am serious, ‘Parnasse, there are so many better ways to earn money…I can get you a job at one of the factories where I work…” he trailed off. He knew that Montparnasse wouldn’t change his ways, he would always resort to pickpocketing and thieving to get his money. All he could to was to stay with him to keep an eye on him, and to make sure he never did anything worse.  
~  
The first time Montparnasse killed a man, he had panicked. Feuilly found him in their flat, shaking, staring at the bloodstained coat that he had shed and flung to the floor. He looked up at Feuilly with wild eyes, looking very much like the young child Feuilly had met all those years ago. All Feuilly could do was wrap his arms around his friend, holding him tightly until he had finally calmed down.  
~  
After that first incident, Montparnasse had hidden at home for a few days, until the commotion around the city had calmed down. When he left the flat, it was usually quietly, only to steal more money or food. Eventually, the people of the city had forgotten the incident, and Montparnasse wandered the streets again, more confident, and more dangerous. He had killed someone else in a fight, but this time, he came home with a calm face and hung his bloody coat over the back of a chair.  
Feuilly began to spend more time out of the flat, telling himself it was to find another job, and he was not avoiding Montparnasse. He was not afraid of him, they had been close friends for years. In his journey to find another job (an excuse to spend more time out of the flat), he had stumbled across a group of students in a café. They spoke of revolution, of a better, brighter world. Their words enraptured Feuilly, and he eventually joined their little group.  
~  
One day, Feuilly came home from a meeting, late, and stumbled into his flat. He was quite drunk, but he was happy. The group had discussed their cause, and he had a chance to discuss his views on the world with the fearless leader of the group. He drank well with his new friends that night.  
He stumbled into the main room and glanced at the mattress where Montparnasse usually slept. It was empty, but Feuilly didn’t think much of it. Montparnasse came home less and less frequently, but Feuilly spent a lot of time out, so he didn’t worry too much. Instead, he kicked off his shoes and practically tripped onto the couch, where he fell asleep instantly.  
When he woke up, his head was groggy and he cursed silently at himself for drinking so much and at the sun for being so bright so early. He sat up and stretched his arms. When he glanced at the small mattress, he saw that Montparnasse was still not there. Feuilly groaned as he stood up and walked towards his desk.  
A small scrap of paper caught his eye. He picked it up and squinted to read it. Feuilly immediately recognized it as Montparnasse’s handwriting, it was large and scrawly, like a child’s. It simply read: “Do not expect me back home.” Feuilly sat down in the chair quietly, staring at the note. He felt tears prick at the back of his eyes, and he crumpled up the note, throwing it to the floor over his shoulder. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, taking a deep breath.  
“I knew it was only a matter of time before he left,” Feuilly muttered to himself. He still sat quietly for a while longer. Despite all the worry he had about coming home some days, he was more worried for the safety of his friend. He knew, the back of his mind, that Montparnasse was probably hiding from the police or he had joined a gang. An even smaller part of him knew that he would probably never see Montparnasse again.  
He took a deep breath and stood up. All he could do was hope that he would be alright. With thoughts of Montparnasse travelling through his head, walked over to his discarded shoes and put them on, before walking out of the flat and heading towards the café Musain for a discussion of some very important revolutionary plans.  
~  
“Where do I go to see the bodies?” Montparnasse asked a woman cleaning the blood off the street. She raised her head and gestured towards a huge pile of broken furniture in the middle of the street.  
“Behind there. In the tavern building,” she said. Montparnasse nodded and immediately made his way around the impressive structure. He buttoned up the top button on his coat and stopped short in the door to the tavern. Several people were already there, family mostly, and they were all crying over their dead loved ones. Sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, friends. Every young student who fought the battle at that barricade was killed before the week was over.  
Montparnasse walked around a group of crying women and his eyes scanned the neat row of bodies laid out on the ground. Maybe he isn’t here, Montparnasse thought. After all, they hadn’t spoken since Montparnasse left, he had no idea if Feuilly had come to this battle. But when he heard about a band of student revolutionaries, it struck a chord. He remembers Feuilly mentioning it once. He had to come and see for himself.  
His train of thoughts suddenly came to a screeching halt. There, lying at the end of the row, was Feuilly. His arms were folded across his midsection, and a large bullet hole seeped blood onto his finest vest. Montparnasse could only stare, all of his mind had gone blank. His closest, and only, if he was being honest, friend lie dead on the dirty floor of a tavern. They had never exchanged parting words, Montparnasse had mearly left a note. He had always expected to come back, or to at least see his friend again. Nothing could have prepared him for meeting Feuilly again like this.  
“Excuse me, sir?” Montparnasse whirled around, startled, and immediately on the defense. A man stood behind him, looking weary. “Are you here to claim someone?” Montparnasse eventually relaxed his stance a bit.  
“Yes,” he managed.  
“Which one?” asked the man, monotonously. Montparnasse felt himself gesture towards Feuilly’s body. The man glanced at Feuilly before turning back to Montparnasse. “Relation?”  
“My brother,” Montparnasse said, without even realizing it. He stepped back and watched as two men picked up Feuilly’s body and practically tossed him into a simple wooden coffin. Montparnasse had to physically restrain himself from launching himself at the men for treating Feuilly with so little respect.  
He had Feuilly buried in a graveyard behind a small church. There was no funeral, Feuilly had no family. But Montparnasse went to the burial. He stood at the unmarked grave and stared at the patch of dirt, as if he could will his friend back to life. He closed his eyes tightly, as a single betraying tear slipped down his cheek. He clenched his fist, trying to will himself to stop. But a sob ripped through him before he could stop it, and he dropped his head into his hands, gasping for breath as he sobbed harder than he had in his life. He felt his knees buckle and he sank to the ground. He cried at the graveside until his breath came in ragged gasps and the tears stopped falling. He took a few deep breaths and stood up. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and brushed the dirt off his knees. With one final glance to the gravesite, Montparnasse adjusted his coat collar and turned, never to return.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I know I haven't posted a fic in a while, but I saw this post and I was so inspired I felt like I should write something. So I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr (crutch-ie.tumblr.com)


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